Dark Hearts
by Fynhavir Leveque
Summary: Not being Updated [Post DMC] Upon his return to Port Royal, Norrington has second thoughts and perhaps a new resolve to remedy his past actions. However, the only way to retrieve the remnants of his honor may lie in an act of dishonesty. [Alternate to AWE
1. Return

**Author's note: **This is my first Pirate's fanfiction, and I apologize if any of the characters are not portrayed correctly or if any of the ones introduced herein are stereotypical (AKA Mary-Sues). I have tried my best to avoid that, and have endeavored to stay true to the original natures of the characters, but it is extremely hard, as I'm sure many of you have discovered, to do so and so I'll admit my failings now. To boot: my writing is not the best in the world as far as I am aware, no matter how much I may wish it, so please excuse errors of that sort. Please let me know any ways that you think I can improve, and I appreciate feedback.

Pirates of the Caribbean, in any form, does not belong to me, no matter how much I adore Norrington or any of the other characters. Just so you know.

I'm not sure how this will go, since I'm afraid Rachel will end up being a bit of a Sue if I'm not careful. Any comments? PLEASE review. Happy reading, no matter what the opinion of readers.

Cheers.

**Set after the end of DMC: from the third person perspective of one James Norrington and a Rachel Baird. The events which may occur in the third movie are unknown to me, so I have endeavored to avoid making inferences. However, I have tried to keep this story true to the events of the second movie.**

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Sullen and silent, James Norrington stood leaning on the battlements of Fort Charles. His features wore a brooding look, which told anyone who knew the former Commodore that he was not in a 'chatty' mod. Green-gray optics were pensive; flickering to the wharves and then to the open expanses of water which sparkled invitingly in the moonlight.

It would have been simple to end the turmoil of his thoughts by taking one step forward, and over that edge, but James Norrington preferred to confront his problems face on, and deal with them accordingly.

How many hours had he stood here since being dismissed by Lord Beckett? He had not kept count. He ought to have demanded quarters; a shave –heaven knew he needed one- and a barber, but instead he had simply left.

Just as he had left Sparrow, Turner and Elizabeth on that pitiful little island (Isla Cruces) after stealing the heart. He felt a bit queasy as he recalled it, only now realizing that the theft had brought him another step closer to becoming what he hated. He, the honorable ex-Commodore Norrington, had practically become a pirate.

What _should_ he have done? The question haunted him. It would have done no good to leave the dratted heart and let Sparrow and Turner fight it out. He had really done the only sensible thing. To let the letters of Marque be ignored and forgotten would have been a waste, and by handing the heart of Davy Jones to the East India Trading Company man, he would regain his life and his honor. But in order to regain his honor, he had had to engage in an act of complete dishonesty.

Exasperated by his conscience, which kept pointing out the unpalatable parts of his recent conduct, he made an irritated sound and wished that he had the comfort of a bottle of rum.

He was beginning to understand the attraction of the vile drink. When one's sober thoughts were so puzzling, how could drunken ones be any worse?

Behind him, he heard somebody clear their throat. Annoyed at having been discovered, and at having his thoughts disrupted, he spun around.

"What do you want?" he demanded, lips thinning as his eyes flickered over the young woman standing before him.

Rachel Baird did not recognize the silhouette of the man standing in the Fort. He was not wearing the red coat of the soldiers, so he could not be on watch. Rather, he was clad in an extremely dirty and rather ragged blue coat with a deal of brocade. His dark brown hair was partially contained in a tail, but most straggled free to his shoulders, and as she tentatively neared him, she wrinkled her nose: He smelled, of stale sweat, rum and other unspeakable things.

Hesitantly, she cleared her throat with intentions of asking him what he was doing. Before she could speak, however, he whirled around with heavy brows lowered.

"What do you want?"

Rachel's hands flew to her mouth as she smothered a gasp, and took a step backwards involuntarily. Those crisp, educated tones were unmistakable, even in a man such as this.

"Commodore _Norrington_?" she asked uncertainly, as piercing green eye swept over her.

"I have not been Commodore for some time," the unshaven, unclean man pointed out wearily. She squinted up at him as she stepped down, trying to find recognition points.

'I suppose, then, that I've no right to inquire what you're doing up here at such an hour," she murmured with resignation, and a dip of her head. "Though it seems a bit odd, sir, if you'll pardon me, since if you'll recall, you have been absent for some months…"

Though she tried to keep her gaze respectfully lowered, she could not help watching him through her lashes.

"One might well inquire what a young lady such as yourself was doing up here at this time, as well, Miss…?" He trailed off pointedly.

It was hard to believe that a man who looked so different from the one whom she had last seen on the parade grounds could sound so identical to himself, yet look so changed. Scrutinizing the effect that a lack of hygiene had had on such a distinguished man, she hastily supplied her name.

"Miss Baird—My father served beneath you."

His obvious irritation at her intrusion faded slightly.

"I do not recall a Baird," he responded guardedly. She nodded, and chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. What had brought the absent Commodore back to Port Royal after he had resigned his position? And so changed? "Though you have not supplied a reason for your-" he continued. Her mind returned to her half query, and she interrupted quickly.

"At least I am decently clothed," she responded with great dignity, chin jutting out stubbornly as her gaze swept over his worn garments, "And have not been absent from Port Royal for the past months."

He frowned at her, and brushed a lock of dark hair away from his tanned and roughened face.

"You know nothing of the situations which forced my departure, or which have occurred since," he replied in clipped tones, and strode abruptly away. Stunned, and rather bewildered, by having caused such a reaction, Rachel proceeded slowly to the carriage waiting for her outside the Fort, after an evening spent with her father.

Her fertile imagination was already busy with creating scenarios which might have forced the dignified Commodore to resign and then vanish.

Of course, they were wrong.


	2. Gathering Gossip

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reviewing, and I hope once again that I succeed in keeping Norrington in character. It's more difficult than I had anticipated.

Also once more, anything associated with POTC is not mine, and I make no profit from this.

Anything in italics –if it comes through- is meant to be thoughts. I'm having a bit of trouble trying to prod my plot into action, so I apologize if too much of the beginning chapters are thoughts or exposition.

I apologize if it isn't accurate.

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At around midnight, after pacing around the Fort and receiving some very odd looks by the sentries, Norrington was forced to find accommodations for the night. Deeming it unwise to turn to Beckett, he acquired a room in a modest inn.

The morning was spectacular, as only a Caribbean morning could be, but the beauty was lost on him. He had been feeling uncomfortable enough the previous night, when reflecting on his recent actions: that morning, as he scraped the stubble of his beard off his chin, he felt extremely guilty.

_Curse Sparrow._

He didn't REALLY regret it. Not at all.

After all, the alternative was to spend the rest of his life as a rum-soaked deckhand. Always obeying others and never in command of himself.

But why would servitude with Beckett be any different?

It was this thought that bothered James Norrington, as he dressed and tied his hair into a neat tail.

There were many things that could happen that day—And if he was lucky, the events would be on his side.

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Rachel Baird smiled and nodded at the woman selling fruits. She was not an outgoing woman, but she enjoyed exchanging gossip in the Marketplace of Port Royal as much as anyone else.

"And I 'eard that the Commodore's back!" the woman concluded in an undertone. Rachel hadn't heard most of what she was saying, but the last comment caught her by surprise and she blinked rapidly several times.

"_What?"_ she inquired belatedly, recalling the shock of their meeting the previous evening.

"Commodore Norrington," the woman elaborated, thinking -naturally- that Rachel hadn't heard her. "'Course, I don't s'pose that he's Commodore anymore, but word is, an me 'usband 'as a cousin 'oo works for the Lord Beckett, that 'e's been pardoned by Milord."

"Pardoned? For what?"

"For 'elpin' that Jack Sparrow fellow escape, see." At Rachel's puzzled look, she continued, "By givin' 'im that day's 'ead start."

"Oh!" Rachel's confusion decreased, and she nodded. The young woman knew very little of the events of nearly a year past in Port Royal, and even less about those which had resulted in the pirate's escape. However, she prided herself on having reliable connections with some of the best gossips in Port Royal; thus she thought that she had a vague idea of what had occurred. Something about undead pirates…

"And Lord Beckett has pardoned him for it?"

"That's what I just said," the woman stated patiently, receiving an odd look from Rachel, who nodded silently and pursed her lips.

"Thank you," she responded at last. "Do you know anything else, Elsie?" The civilian woman raised a shoulder in a half shrug.

"Not much. Word is that Governor Swann's pretty much given 'is position to Milord Beckett. I don' see why, though."

"No," Rachel agreed in an absent murmur with a grateful dip of her head. "Again, thank you Elsie. I'll be by tomorrow—You will keep listening, won't you?"

"Of course, Miss Baird."

She nodded, and with measured steps continued to another stall, but her mind wasn't on the task of shopping. Not, of course, that a lady of moderate wealth often did her own shopping, but as the Cook had taken ill, she had taken it upon herself to see that the task was carried out appropriately.

And so it was that, still thinking, Rachel made her way back to the carriage which had taken her to the marketplace, and ordered the driver to take her to the wharves: her task had been long since forgotten.

As ever, the Wharves were bustling with activity, ships bobbing at their moorings and people of all sorts mingling as they went about their chores with only a mutter or a nod for the others. The person whom Rachel sought was not immediately in sight, but she spotted his ship immediately.

_The Vigilance_ was a merchant ship of decent size, at about 80 feet long with 3 masts and a crew of about 20. It was not employed by the East India Company, though several overtures of that sort had been made to the Captain, and it was this captain whom Rachel was seeking on that morning, as she pushed through the crowds of people towards the ship.

"CAPTAIN NICHOLAS MONTGOMERY!" she cried, upon spotting a familiar face on deck. Several people around her shot her odd looks, but Rachel was oblivious. She stumbled over the hem of her gown once, and nearly toppled over a sailor sitting on a barrel, but besides minor incidents of this sort (which tended to be inevitable with Rachel) nothing untoward occurred until she reached the edge of the wharf.

"Nicholas!" she repeated louder, and the man peered over the rail of the ship this time.

"Rachel! What on earth are you doing here?" he called down. Rachel smirked at the horror in his voice.

"I came to see you! I thought that you said you were going to be--"

"Stay there," he instructed quickly, before she could continue, and gestured towards a relatively clear spot. "Don't move. It's not proper for a young lady to come down here without an escort! Especially to see a male." His glare did not perturb her, and she raised a shoulder in a delicate shrug.

"Then hurry before I do something stupid." The sarcasm was lost on him, as he cast his hands upwards. She could see that he muttered something under his breath, and then nodded to one of the men at his side, before hurrying away.

It was not long before the Captain was at her side, and glowering as fiercely as she had ever seen him.

"What are you doing?" he demanded under his breath, offering his arm. With a brilliant, innocent smile that always seemed to work on the irritable man, she accepted it.

"I already told you. I came to see you before you left for England. And I have something to ask you." She could have sworn that he muttered "I should have known," before giving her a crooked smile in return.

"All right. What this time?" Triumphantly, she slipped her arm out of his and gestured towards the shore.

"Do you know anything about the _Black Pearl_?" His swarthy features paled.

"It's a pirate ship," the Captain responded casually after a moment of silence, in which Rachel cast him an intrigued look. "Well, I gathered that much. But I thought you would know more of it than I—It is, is it not, the ship that attacked Port Royal about a year ago?"

"Well, yes, but you must know as much as I, Rachel." Her eyes fell, and she watched him from beneath her lashes.

"But what about it?" she persisted softly, clasping her hands before her. "No one else will tell me, Nicholas…" He sighed, and narrowed his eyes at her.

"That is because a young lady has no need to know those sort of things. There were all sorts of tales about it's crew, but that Jack Sparrow fellow…" Rachel gasped triumphantly, but remained silent when Nicholas gave her a wary glance, before continuing cautiously. "Well, he is Captain now I believe. After he escaped from the Commodore, he and his crew led the Fleet a merry chase around the Caribbean, and after failing to capture him again, the Commodore resigned. I know no more than that. The _Pearl_ is nothing more spectacular than a pirate ship with an infamous captain, Rachel."

"I see." She chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip, and cast a sweet smile up at the Captain. "I am much indebted to you for the information, Nicholas. I suppose that I ought to leave you to return to your crew…"

He took off his hat with a small bow and tight smile.

"I am at your service, Miss Baird. Would you like a tour of _The Vigilance_?" Rachel considered the offer, and belatedly recalled that she had been supposed to be shopping. Should she beg leave of him, and return to that abandoned task?

"I would enjoy that greatly," she responded instead, with a dip of her head. Nicholas smiled and again offered his arm. With only a moment's hesitation, Rachel accepted it.

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Back in the office of Lord Beckett, a subdued James Norrington left, clutching his hat under his arm and features stiff.

The meeting had been profitable, though not, perhaps, what he had been expecting. He was quickly learning that Lord Beckett of the East India Company rarely behaved in a manner which one might expect, despite an appearance of constancy. Indeed: He was a man that James would have to watch if he intended to improve himself.


	3. A long evening

**Author's Note: **I'm going away for about 2 weeks –so it means no updates for a while-, but I appreciate those who've read this so far. I hope that this chapter is up to standards; I'm not sure that I like the premise drifting about in my head but it gives me something to work with. Thanks to **Brokenspar** for pointing out that I should be careful that Rachel doesn't get too much like Elizabeth (or something along those lines).

As ever, neither Pirates of the Caribbean nor Norrington belong to me (sigh)

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Rachel was not usually one to eavesdrop, but she felt that an occasional lapse from principle wasn't too bad. After all, the occasion made it seem like ignoring her unspoken rule for a change would be beneficial. For all she knew, it would be. The young woman was on her way to the wharves again, for a rendezvous with Nicholas Montgomery: He had arranged an evening out, and while reluctant to show too much partiality, she found that the Captain was genial enough company. After all, having known Nick since having arrived in Port Royal nearly 10 years ago, Rachel felt safe enough in his presence, and didn't mind spending an evening or two with him. However, in the process of strolling –which, being Rachel, she had forgotten was not a normal thing for young ladies to do- to her final destination, she froze nearly mid-step upon hearing a low murmur of voices.

That in itself was not odd, but one of the voices uttered a word which she was not accustomed to hearing, even with the varied population of Port Royal. She took a wary step into the shadows as two men, one dressed in a dark coat and the other in the rougher garb of a sailor, strode briskly past her. She had moved just in time. They were arguing in low voices, but must have been louder previously if she had been able to hear them. The incongruity of listening in on what was obviously intended to be a private conversation did not dawn on her until rather later.

"Are you sure that his Lordship wishes to carry this out?" asked the first man in tones which made it clear that it was a repeated demand.

"Most assuredly. The man is a threat," the second responded in a cultured voice that betrayed his refinement, even though he was dressed raggedly. Rachel pressed herself up against the brick wall at her back, silently berating herself for having chosen to enjoy the evening air. _Never again_ she told herself firmly, _will I try to walk about Port Royal at night!_ It was not yet late, but the dangers of it had not struck her until that moment. Who were these men?

"But he could be valuable," the first pointed out, as Rachel realized the men were still there, and still talking.

"His Lordship does not wish to take that chance. He has what he wants, and can be of no further use."

"Silence can always be ensured by methods which I…"

"Do not question _my_ methods, sir. You may be certain that this man of whom you speak will not pose a threat to our mutual friend for much longer," came the crisp tones of the man in the ragged clothing. Rachel's eyes were wide in the shadows, and the young woman shivered convulsively as she heard the two men's steps resume, and fade away. It took several moments before she could collect her nerves enough to continue.

_What possessed me?_ She wondered with disgust, _to walk to the Wharves? Certainly it is not far, but this is Port Royal. It would not have been difficult to secure a carriage or some such thing…_

Such thoughts were too late now. There was no point in lamenting her lack of fore thought. All she could do now was hurry to the safety of _The Vigilance_ and Nicholas.

"Rachel! What possessed you to walk here?" came the familiar tones of the merchant Captain as she approached his ship. He was not on deck, but waiting on the dock and looking concerned. "I had wondered where you had got to." She shot him a strained, weary smile.

"I don't know, but if you would consent to escort me back after this evening is over, I should be much obliged," Rachel told him with a rueful smile. "I have never seen the advantages of fore-thought before, but I think I shall have to pick up the habit." It was not until later that she thought to wonder about what the men had been discussing, and whom had been indicated.

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James Norrington, presently a mere captain, strode down the wharves to investigate his new ship. The _HMS Legend _was not a large ship…but it was his, and presently he was satisfied with that. He was not going to hang, and his unsavory past few months would not be questioned.

Dubiously, his eyes swept over the rotting timbers of the hull, and the ex-commodore heaved a sigh. He supposed that he had Beckett to thank for his new fortune: the merchant ship docked nearby was larger and clearly better cared for than the two-masted schooner. Couldn't the East India Company take better care of its ships? He had served aboard a ship much like this one early on in his military career, and it had not been an experience which he would have appreciated repeating.

_You're only starting at the bottom. You can work your way up again,_ he assured himself with a rueful sigh. The sun was sinking, and while he would have liked to go aboard and look over things, he decided that this was a pleasure he would reserve for morning.

Settling his tricorn hat neatly atop his dark hair, Norrington's eyes flickered towards the other ship and he couldn't help a stab of envy. The _HMS_ _Dauntless_ had been a fine ship and far more worthy of him, he thought a bit wistfully, but even a merchant ship like -he squinted at the name on the prow- _The Vigilance,_ would be more pleasant than serving on this 'Legend.' It was a ship of the fleet, and yet it was in sorry state.

_I would never have let a ship fall into such state_, he thought grimly, and smoothed a fold out of his coat. A shout from the wharf, and a female response, turned his attention away from his new ship, and towards a feminine figure winding her way through the boxes piled about.

"I have never seen the advantages of fore-thought before, but I think I shall have to pick up the habit," concluded a familiar voice, which after a moment of thought, he realized was that of Miss Baird.

James Norrington's curiosity rarely got the better of him, but for a change, and feeling rather put out with his 'reward' from Beckett, he allowed himself to indulge.

"Miss Baird," he remarked coolly, striding towards the young woman with a polite nod for her companion. "It is a pleasure to see you again. What are you doing here at this time of night?"

Her back had been to him, facing the neatly groomed man before her, and he saw her shoulders stiffen before she turned around with a cautious smile.

"I had an engagement with my friend—Mr. Norrington, allow me to present Captain Nicholas Montgomery, of the merchant ship _Vigilance._" The man she indicated with a stiff gesture bowed, and arched his eyebrows.

"Mr. Norrington?" Montgomery stated with a deceptively mild undertone to his voice. Norrington's frosty smile returned, and he swept a patronizing glance over the merchant.

"Captain, actually," he replied with the slightly superior tone that he didn't really have any right to, since he was technically on the same level as the other man. Miss Baird shot them both irritated glances from beneath her lashes.

"Captain Montgomery and I were going to take dinner together…" She shot the merchant an inquiring glance, which told the ex-Commodore that she wasn't aware of the other man's plans.

"I'm sorry-I'm intruding," he remarked with a formal bow. "Allow me to leave you, then." The young woman looked surprised, and brushed a thick lock of reddish hair away from her features. Absently, he noted that it had escaped the tight confines of a bun, which must have originally been neater than it presently was.

"Do you have any prior commitments?" her companion asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence. Norrington allowed himself another tight smile, again at the merchant.

"I do not. I was just inspecting my ship." The girl followed the direction of his gaze, and she frowned.

"It's not very impressive, sir," she murmured absently, with a thoughtful tilt of her head. Norrington stopped himself before he agreed, and as she realized what she had said, she paled and hastily muttered an apology. For the first time that evening, he actually did feel like smiling, but restrained the impulse. Montgomery was not so well mannered. He chuckled and grinned at the young woman.

"Now, Rachel," he chided, "It is not wise to insult our former Commodore." Norrington could not, however, hold back a snort.

_Former_, he repeated bitterly. _And dear Mr. Montgomery is extremely aware of it._

The Captain had moved on in speech, and had been conversing in low tones with Miss Baird. There was a stubborn set to her jaw that reminded him of someone, but before he could pin point who, she had turned around with a darting glance for Montgomery.

"Captain Norrington, Rachel wonders if you would be interested in joining us for supper. It would not be up to the standards of your usual fare, I fancy, but you are welcome." The frostiness of his voice did not indicate a warm welcome, but Norrington did not contemplate the idea of an evening spent with Montgomery with any more joy.

"Thank you for your kindness," he said instead, with equal lack of emotion. "I appreciate the invitation, and accept." Miss Baird, in silence, dipped her head, and wondering what he had gotten himself into, he trailed after the younger pair with the bitter realization that he was an idiot.

It was not a sensation that he enjoyed.


	4. Inconvenient Associations

**Author Note: **Sorry that this update has taken so long! I've written the next 4 chapters already, so from here it should go fairly quickly. I was away a little bit longer than I expected, and then I've just not had time to type anything up. So…here goes. I'm afraid there's no Norrie in this chapter, but he gets the entire next few. And I apologize for the lack of length, and any historical inaccuracies. Any reviews are greatly appreciated!

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"Rachel!"

"Nicholas." Rachel glanced up from poking at her embroidery. The Captain bowed jerkily and his eyes flickered over her attempts.

"If you're busy, I could come back-" he began, but she hastily put it aside with great relief, and shook her head. She was willing to take any method of escape, even if it came in the form of Nicholas Montgomery.

"No, I'm not busy, presently. Er—take a seat." She moved to gesture him into a chair, which he awkwardly took. He was uncharacteristically quiet, and when Rachel inquired if he would like refreshment, he shook his head.

"No-thank you. I…I had something to ask you.."

Suddenly wary, Rachel nearly dropped the tea cup she had been holding.

"Oh?" her tones were deceptively mild. Nicholas fidgeted awkwardly, his pompousness seeming a bit pitiful.

"Would you care to accompany me on a turn about the public gardens?" The hesitation that she had sensed in his demeanor in his prior statement was gone, and Rachel was seized by a vague foreboding.

"I…" She gazed wide-eyed at him, and suddenly his tense fame relaxed, and he offered her an uncharacteristic wry smile.

"I won't eat you, Rachel, nor ask you something you wouldn't like. Honestly, I just wanted to talk with you. If you don't want to come…" He sounded so unusually subdued that Rachel was unable to yield to the part of her mind which objected.

"I would be happy to," she told him instead, with a small smile. He smiled broadly in return and rose, extending a polite hand to her.

"Excellent. Shall we go?"

"I have no objections." Rachel swallowed the retort which she had almost uttered, and very carefully rose. For a miracle, she did not trip, nor tear a stocking, as they proceeded to the Gardens which were open to all the populace of Port Royal. Even more miraculous, her hair remained decently twisted in a knot instead of escaping as it habitually did.

The gardens were, as usual, spectacular, and the weather was as fine as any Caribbean day. Rachel had resigned herself to an hour of dull, conventional conversation and boiling in too many clothes. However, as she fiddled with a ribbon on her hat, she spotted a figure striding towards them, attired in a distinctive red coat. Involuntarily, she clutched at Nicholas' arm.

"Mr. Montgomery," the man said coolly with a brisk bow. "Lord Beckett requires your presence immediately." Her presence was forgotten, as Nicholas stiffened and inclined his head.

"I will go to see him now," he replied after a moment. The man bowed, and strode back the way he had come. In silence, Nicholas contemplated his departing back, before scowling and walking rapidly after him. Rachel frowned and hurried after her escort. In her haste and the concentration it required to avoid losing him in the crowds, she bumped into several bystanders, most of whom she forgot to apologize to.

"Nicholas!" she cried in frustration, glaring at his back as she brushed past a uniformed man impatiently. "Slow down! _Wait!_" The Captain paused nearly mid stride, and turned slowly around to confront her. In dangerous silence, he stared at her, ignorant to the passerby's glancing at them with unconcealed interest.

"Rachel. What the _hell_ are you doing?" His tones begun quietly, but grew in volume and intensity until they were close to a roar. Frightened, Rachel took a step back.

"Following you. Going with you! If you haven't forgotten, you were my _escort_," she told him defiantly, raising her chin a fraction. Nicholas' jaw clenched, and for an instant Rachel thought that he was going to hit her, but he relaxed.

"Of course. I'm sorry—You may accompany me, but _promise_ that you will not say a word! My relations with Lord Beckett are… not of a friendly nature." She smiled at him and nodded, with only a moment's hesitation.

The rest of the journey passed in cool silence, though at a more moderate pace. The house which they finally arrived at was not familiar to Rachel. It looked a bit odd at first, until she realized that there were extensive additions on what had once been a small building. They paused before going up the drive.

"Will you wait here?" inquired Nicholas hopefully. She shook her head, and he sighed.

"Of course not. Come along." She followed him delicately, marveling at the sculptures which haphazardly littered the grounds. Rachel _thought_ that they were intended to be Nymphs, but they looked more like a bunch of bare ladies. Her estimation of a man who possessed such taste in art was rather limited.

Nicholas was received into the house coolly, and escorted to a second floor office, where a small man in a white wig was seated at a desk. She had seen him only once before, but he was the sort of man one never forgets simply because of the shock: _This little man possesses almost all the power over the sea_. Why, she didn't know, and didn't much care. He didn't seem to notice her, as she looked up and nodded to Nicholas, which was just as well.

"Captain Montgomery. You responded quickly to my summons."

"Of course, My Lord," the man in question replied frigidly.

"I have a proposal to make you…" Beckett began after a moment of eyeing the other man. "If you are interested in putting your talents to use for…" Rachel stopped listening, as her gaze flickered around the office for a focal point. Briefly it rested on a huge world map, which took up an entire wall. She studied this with mild interest, before transferring her attention elsewhere. An elegant sword lay atop his desk. Briefly, she wondered if Beckett could actually even lift it, before her eyes flickered to a polished wooden chest bearing the insignia of the East India Trading Company, and then flashed to a dark sack. With horrified fascination, she watched as it pulsed sickeningly, over and over, in intervals of a few minutes.

"What _is_ that?" she gasped, before realizing that she had spoken aloud. There was something terribly… _alive_ about it, which made her want to throw up. She colored, and looked down. "I'm sorry Milord. I-" Both men were staring at her.

"And who are you?" It was Beckett. Rachel turned an even brighter red, and smoothed a fold out of her wrinkled skirt self-consciously.

"Rachel Baird, milord. I am a friend of Captain Montgomery's."

"Indeed. And what was it you were looking at?" Initially, she was astonished that he did not query the reason for her presence, but then she realized that he knew. He know, too, what she was looking at, but he wanted Rachel to say. Hesitating, she pointed at the bag, which again pulsed, and her finger quivered.

An unpleasant smile crossed his smug features, as he pulled it towards him over the desk, and reached in, to pull something out. It was a beating human heart. Repelled, Rachel stepped back impulsively, and caught her breath in disgust.

"Where…where did you come by that, Milord?" she inquired in faltering tones.

"One of my men came by it several weeks ago. It was…in his best interests to give it to me. Do you know what it is?" Mutely, Rachel considered nodding (for she could recognize it as a heart but shook her head. Nicholas was staring at the thing, looking as queasy as she felt.

"This is the heart of Davy Jones. Whoever has this, has the power to control the sea." She stared at him, and swallowed a lump of fear.

"I see," she murmured indistinctly, though she really didn't see at all. He smirked, and tucked it back into the cloth bag. Rachel was unable to look away, though she longed to tear her gaze to some other point.

"Now, Captain Montgomery, what were you going to say?" She was forgotten, which was all for the better as far as Rachel was concerned.

The heart of Davy Jones? She had no idea what he meant, but being Rachel, she was determined to find out. Nicholas touched her elbow.

"Rachel. I'm going now," he told her in low tones. Vaguely, she nodded and followed him out of Beckett's manor. He spoke to her but it was to no avail. Her mind was on one thing, no matter how much she wished to get it out of her head: The heart of Davy Jones.


	5. Fresh Air and Honest Lies

**Author's note: **Hah! Finally-New chapter. Took me long enough. I had a whole bunch of chapters written out in August and never got around to posting them before being consumed by school. This week I hope to remedy that. Nothing really to add, except that I hope you enjoy, I hope Norrington stays in character, and I hope that Rachel doesn't get too Mary-Suely. I also hope sincerely that I haven't made too many historical errors!

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Norrington had been striding through the streets of Port Royal with no destination in mind. He had been doing a great deal of thinking, and it bothered him that he could not accept his own decision, which came with such benefits.

As it was, in a rare state of mental agitation, he had decided to leave the shabby room, which he was renting, and get some fresh air. He was not certain how long he had been out, but he had found that his path had taken him past a certain Blacksmith's place several times. And then towards a tavern.

And then in the direction of the marketplace, where he could hear the constant hum of voices, even at a distance.

He pretended to admire some fruits that a woman was claiming her quite fresh, as he absently noted how many brown spots there were. IT was a measure of his distraction that he didn't realize someone was speaking to him.

In fact, he wouldn't have realized that someone was talking to him at all, if the woman hadn't put her face up very close to his, and poked his upper arm.

"Sir? If yer not going to be buyin' will ye please move?"

"Of course." Had it not been for the brief look of confusion which flitted across his features, one would never have realized that his mind was elsewhere. He had mastered that look of grave attention early on in his military training.

Stepping aside with a nod for the fruit seller, he started to turn around, but his intentions were forgotten when someone stumbled into him, and pushed him violently off balance.

He teetered for a moment, as if his body couldn't decide which way to tumble. With so many people in the crowded market it was nearly impossible to fall, but none the less he began to fall back, and hastily caught himself with ease. James apologized hastily to those whom he had jostled, and turned back to confront his assailant.

Without thinking about it, he had put a hand on his sword…and now withdrew it hastily, sketching an awkward bow. Picking herself up off of the dusty ground was Rachel Baird. He struggled to conceal a smile as he offered a hand to help her rise. She was flushed, though with the heat or embarrassment he was not sure, and her hat was tilted at an odd angle; unnaturally skewed. Dark brown hair had escaped from it's knot and straggled down in dusty locks around her pale face, which she had brushed back nervously as she climbed to her feet.

"Commodore!" she began to exclaim in horror, before realizing her mistake and turning an even brighter red. "Er…Mr…er…Captain Norrington. I'm so sorry! I was in a rush and my mind was elsewhere- I _do_ apologize. Are you quite alright? It would seem that my clumsiness has gotten the better of me once more." She gave him a self-conscious smile, and fiddled with the ribbons of her hat.

He was vaguely surprised: he had not noted before that she was particularly clumsy, but then again their previous encounters had been brief.

"Oh-yes. Of course I'm all right. It is I who should be asking you, for it was I who was not paying attention. Did you take any injury in your fall?" he inquired after a moment. Rachel blinked at him, as if trying to decide whether he meant what he had said. She inspected her dusty palms, and then nodded.

"I, too, suffered no injury. But I suppose I am used to such things."

They were both silent for a moment, and she glanced about warily.

"I don't suppose that you've seen anybody who appeared as if they were searching for something?" she ventured tentatively.

"I don't believe so. Why?" He wondered if that had something to do with her preoccupation.

"Nicholas was taking me home after he went to go see Lord Beckett, and I became annoyed, and left him behind. Not long ago I realized that there were two men following me. I had hoped that I could evade them here, but…" She trailed off, and looked away.

"Why would anyone have any wish to do that?" he wondered aloud as several possibilities flitted through his mind. "I will not lecture you about the dangers of traversing the streets of Port Royal alone, Miss Baird. I am sure you are well aware of them. However, you ought to have stayed with your escort, to avoid tempting…such people." James Norrington was not the sort to be caught off guard, but her next statement took him completely by surprise.

"But I've seen the heart of Davy Jones."

For a girl who seemed so vague most of the time, she was incredibly sharp. He nearly choked. When he had regained the ability to breath properly, he noted that she was watching him from the corners of her eyes. His reaction seemed to only mildly surprise her. After a moment of looking at him with a disconcertingly thoughtful expression, she spoke again.

"And I think that you have, too." He managed to avoid choking a second time, and struggled to regain his haughty mask.

"What makes you think that, Miss Baird?" he asked cautiously, suddenly wondering if he had some ulterior motive. Rachel Baird could look so innocent, sometimes, that he had to question whether that might not be a mask. However, James found himself questioning most things, now.

"It was a random surmise based on your reaction, and the fact that, even though Beckett was waving a warrant for your arrest not long ago, he seems to have welcomed your return with open arms," she replied calmly. "However, even if I am wrong, I ought not to have mentioned such things here." She waved a casual arm around the Market.

"You are correct. These are dangerous things of which you speak. You might find it wise not to inquire openly. Or at all," he warned. Suddenly she paled.

"I know!" she whispered, wide-eyed. "But I think that if I don't ask, somebody will die." Puzzled, his gaze swept over her dubiously.

"And how do you know this?" he demanded rather more aggressively than he had intended. She took a step backwards, eyes fixed on the tips of her shoes.

"I overheard it," Rachel murmured defensively. "Several nights ago." She continued staring down, and for a fleeting instant he wondered what color her eyes were, but a moment later he was appalled at having entertained such thoughts.

"I see. You are quite sure?" he pressed. She looked up with the same stubborn tilt to her jaw, which he had noticed before.

"Indeed. Now I really ought to be going. I'm very sorry for running into you." The brief glimpse that he had had of that determined glint was gone. She faded back into a modest young lady.

"Again, I ought to have been paying more attention." James hesitated, thinking of what she had just said and her 'shadows.' "Would you mind if I escorted you?" Surprised, she glanced up at him.

"I hardly think it wise for you to wander alone after what you've just told me," he clarified firmly, in tones which brooked no argument.

After a brief consideration, Rachel nodded.

"Thank you," she told him glumly.

If he wasn't mistaken, it sounded as if she would rather have been attacked, if only to prove her theory. He tired in vain not to smile.

"You're welcome," he told her in practiced detachment, catching her brief glower.

They pushed through the marketplace in silence, until Rachel spoke up.

"Perhaps now that you've decided to take an interest in my safety you would condescend to explain something of these matters of…" she paused, "Of the heart, of which you clearly know _something_?"

Surprised by the request, which was reasonable considering that she appeared to be involved, he glanced over at her warily.

"Not here—I suppose that, if you agree, he would meet aboard my ship, the _HMS Legend_, and I will tell you…as much as I think is necessary, for you to know." he replied with a hint of reluctance, only realizing the incongruity of the arrangement after he had said it. Such things did not seem to occur to Rachel. She gave him a grateful look.

"Thank you."

This time, she sounded as if she truly meant it.


	6. Honest Men are a Dying Breed

_**Author's Note**: As ever, POTC and DMC is not mine. It belongs, I believe, to Disney. Sadly, this means that Norrington is not mine either._

_I apologize for the length of time it is taking for me to update, but as far as I'm aware, it would seem that I am posting for my own enjoyment alone. And now, of course, that AWE has come out…well, my little fic-let is completely implausible. So read on with the consideration that nothing in this story ties, in any way, to the latest Pirates of the Caribbean movie._

_I must add: In this chapter, I have Norrington cooking. I highly doubt that it would be a skill that he would actually possess, so I apologize. But with his fall in fortune, and lack of crew, I couldn't see any other method of having him prepare a meal. I've no clue if anything in this is historically accurate, so I apologize for that too...but it was a heck of a lot of fun to write._

* * *

Neither Rachel Baird nor James Norrington were entirely sure how to view their upcoming rendezvous. 

He was feeling more and more uncomfortable; not only about being forced to tell her of his unsavory involvement with Davy Jones' heart, but at having a young lady aboard his ship unescorted. Especially this young lady, who seemed to be in some world of her own, and never noticed common proprieties.

She was feeling wary—as if there were something that she ought to tell him, but could not think what it might be. After seeing Nicholas the previous evening, and tactfully squeezing as much information about the 'mysterious' ex-commodore as she could, she didn't know what to think. He seemed to be a decent sort, but there was something harsh—something bitter, about him, that she didn't understand. If Rachel had her way, she soon would.

Preparing to meet him on _The Legend_ took more time than she had anticipated. Dressing her hair was an impossible task, since the heavy tresses refused to remain confined, but picking a gown took as much time as it did prior to an engagement with Nicholas. It rather disconcerted her.

* * *

James wondered wryly why he had ever agreed to tell Rachel Baird anything. Why he had even agreed to let her aboard his hard-won ship. Why he had even let her glimpse anything of him at all! 

The meal he had prepared was modest: he had learned to cook before he had ever joined the military and had found the skill useful to upkeep. The galley of _The Legend_ was something of a disgrace, but he had managed to create edible food with less space than this.

Exasperated by the turn of his thoughts, his mind drifted to Beckett. In their last encounter, the Lord had been particularly enigmatic about when he would let James and his small crew leave Port Royal. He was beginning to think –rather accurately- that Beckett was unwilling to let him out of his sight for fear of…him? Changing loyalties? The more Beckett stalled, the more he longed to return to the sea.

The more he regretted giving up that brief chance for freedom…

A voice from the wharf hailed him, and he was jerked from his reverie. Exiting the cabin of the ship, he hastened to go onto the deck.

"Miss Baird," he remarked coolly, instantly certain of whom his guest was. "I hope that you were not followed, this evening?"

She frowned in thought, eyes bright with concern.

"I hope not, though I confess that it didn't occur to me to see," she mumbled, bumping into a barrel as she turned to glance behind herself.

They were both silent—both reflecting on the peculiar circumstances that called for them to form an alliance of sorts, however reluctantly.

"Mr. Norrington," she said at last, with her musing gaze fixed on the flickering flame of a nearby lantern. "I have come to the conclusion that Lord Beckett does not trust you. Do you trust _him_?"

He was not accustomed to being surprised so frequently: it seemed to be a gift of hers, and it was not one which he appreciated.

"What gives you the right to inquire?" he retaliated after a moment of gaping at her. She regarded him in puzzled silence, with an absent expression adorning her features.

"Mere curiosity," Rachel told him, finally. He didn't think that that was all there was behind the inquiry but he decided it couldn't hurt to be frank. After all, he owed the truth to someone. He would have preferred to confide in one of his former Lieutenants…but he didn't know what had happened to them after the hurricane. He felt a stab of guilt.

"No," he stated suddenly. The honesty of the statement surprised him, and rather uncertainly, he repeated it to reaffirm, more to himself than to Rachel, what he had just said. "No. I do not trust Lord Beckett." It felt good to admit it.

Rachel smiled complacently. "I rather thought so. You see—remember how I told you that someone could die? I have come to the conclusion that the man indicated…was you. I have no real evidence, to be sure, but I cannot think of anyone else who would inspire such animosity." She fixed him with a reproachful look. "You owe me an explanation."

James was still too busy digesting the fact that she believed he was going to die, and hardly heard her continuing words.

"I suppose that I do," he acknowledged grudgingly. "But I'm not the only man in Port Royal, Miss Baird. It could have been anyone." She looked stricken.

"Oh dear. That would be my overactive imagination, I suppose. I'm sorry…but the men referred to a Lord. THAT must be Lord Beckett!" There was a triumphant glimmer in her optics as she pronounced this and walked to the ship's rail to peer out at the ocean.

"I expect," Rachel added thoughtfully, "That perhaps if you tell me about the circumstances leading up to the present day, I could determine the man indicated. After all, I suppose that Governor Swann could be viewed as a dangerous obstacle, too. He is working for Beckett, if you hadn't heard."

She had a remarkable way of straying from the topic, but revealing such valuable information.

"Indeed." He leaned on the rail, reflectively gazing out over the sparkling Caribbean sea. "It started with the hurricane."

She shot him a startled look, before realizing that at last he was telling her what she wanted to know.

"We had pursued Sparrow for months—and I should have known better than to try to sail through it. I may be foolish at times, but I would have thought that I was an experienced enough seaman to know better. I was consumed by the need to secure that bloody…er, that pirate, behind bars again, I suppose. It clouded my judgment, and my ability to consider the lives of my men." His tones were truly bitter, and she was wise enough not to interrupt. Telling the whole tale, for the first time, was distinctly odd. He was grateful for her silence, and lack of reproach.

"I lost them in the storm, and my ship, and my commission. I was too inept to be Commodore—I am too self-centered. I know it, now! After resigning, I wound up in Tortuga. A girl like you probably hasn't heard of it—it is a notorious pirate port. Suffice it to say that I was troubled, and not myself. I wound up as a deckhand in Sparrow's crew—it was there that I beheld the Letters of Marque signed by Beckett, and heard of the Heart of Davy Jones. He is a legendary man—monster…being…to whom sailors go when they die at sea, and who controls the Kraken. It is said that he cut out his heart after being betrayed by a woman. Whoever possesses this heart can control him—thus control the sea."

He was speaking too much. He had never spoken so many words at a time, since of late he rarely spoke at all.

"Sparrow, Elizabeth Swan (and myself) went ashore on a tiny little island, where it was buried. William Turner showed up with a key—Sparrow had tricked him into serving on Jones' crew or some such thing. We had…different ideas of how to use this power. We fought. In the end, Jones sent his crew to retrieve his heart. I stole it, and the letters of Marque. To escape, I pretended to draw them away from Sparrow and company. I was picked up by an East India ship, and returned to Port Royal with thoughts only of redeeming my lost reputation and position, since I had learned that Beckett was seeking the Heart. You know the rest. It was I who traded it to him, for a pardon. My reward is as you see." Broodingly, he gestured widely around _The Legend_. Rachel was silent for a moment. He wondered if she believed him. The more he considered the wild tale he had just told, the more he doubted it himself.

"I heard that Captain Sparrow is dead," she ventured tentatively, hesitant to break his reflections. He looked rather forbidding at the moment and she was reluctant to interrupt.

"My fault," he replied dully, with a cynical smile. "My job finally carried out—and not by me."

She considered her conversation with the market vendor, and sighed.

"Such is life." Briefly, James wondered if she truly knew anything of the world.

Rachel was disappointed by his tale. It was not that she had expected some fantastic adventure, but the fact that his story had not matched any of her ideas. And the fact that it seemed this man was no less human than any other.

"It's only human to regret it, you know," she remarked thoughtfully. He frowned.

"Where did you come to that conclusion?" he inquired dryly, with a hint of sarcasm that she didn't catch. Rachel turned, gazing up at him with grave hazel eyes.

"Your voice." She fell silent and shifted a little bit nervously. "And your eyes. I have never seen a man with such tortured eyes."

He contemplated her dubiously, uncertain whether to believe her or take it that she had seen more than was really there.

"But I am honorable again. I have a ship—a crew. I have a life," James stated resolutely. "I have all that I need." Except freedom. A will of his own. Did he really have all that he needed?

"That is the problem with men," Rachel murmured. "They make a decision, thinking it's what they want, and then spend the rest of their lives convincing themselves that it is right. Mr. Norrington, you are not truly honorable." Her eyes were shadowed, and a faint smile curved up her lips. He knew that she was right.

"How so?"

"Does stealing make a man more honorable, even if it is rewarded?" Her voice was mild, and he was beginning to become most alarmed when she used such tones.

"Clearly not, but no one acknowledges it but the man himself," he remarked drolly. "I know many pirates who would disagree with you, besides."

"And therefore he lies to himself. Another mark of dishonestly," she retorted with more gravity than he might have expected of her.

"You've made your point, Miss Baird. However, these days, I've found that truly honest, or even honorable, men are scare. I do not pretend that I am of this rare breed."

"It doesn't seem…wise, to leave the ability to control the sea with Lord Beckett, if what you say is true," she remarked delicately, in an apparent change of topic. He raised his eyebrows.

"There isn't any alternative," he pointed out. "And I don't intend to risk offending the man who is my overseer." Rachel fiddled with a heavy strand of hair escaped from it's knot.

'But…Mr. Norrington." She paused to take a deep breath. "Mr. Norrington. Couldn't you…take the heart _back_?" For the third time that evening, she surprised him.

"And lose all this?" he inquired heavily. She looked a little bit defensive.

"You have hardly gained anything. Only a ship. And really, is this worth it?" Rachel sounded uncomfortably like his conscience, even though she sounded increasingly uncertain about her idea.

"I don't know about you, but I have come to believe that Lord Beckett is quite dangerous enough, as it is. I have thought it through. All you have to do is distract His Lordship, sneak into his office, steal the Heart of Davy Jones, stow away on a ship, and find Jack Sparrow's crew." She sounded as matter-of-fact as though she were discussing the weather.

"ALL?" he choked. "Miss Baird, it is just like a woman to come up with some absurd solution!" She gave him a thoughtful look, illuminated by the flicker of a lantern.

"Are you suggesting that it's absurd, or are you simply uncertain if my plan will work?" she inquired mildly. "Trust me, Mr. Norrington." He was unable to respond. She misinterpreted his gape. "I'm sure…" Rachel began cautiously.

"You told me yourself that you have an overactive imagination," he interrupted. "I wouldn't want to take any chances, Miss Baird."

"Well, then, I'll help you."

"You can't sail, he managed, wondering if she had ever told a lie.

"That's why I'll get Nicholas to help," she told him with great satisfaction. He found the idea of the Merchant captain involved in any dubious activity amusing—almost as amusing as the idea of Montgomery agreeing to help him.

"I expect that he'll agree to take you." There was a suspicious glint in her gaze.

"And how do you intend to do that?" he asked with interest.

"Oh, I have my methods. He will not be able to object." There was a hint of a smile adorning her features which he did not entirely trust. For the first time, he felt mildly sorry for the other man.

"And what if I don't agree to carry out this plan?" He couldn't resist asking, even though he had already decided what he was going to do. Rachel looked momentarily apprehensive, considering belatedly that he might actually be loyal to Beckett, but her face cleared.

"Then I'll do it myself," she replied with an absent tilt of her head. "Since it's clear that you can't leave such power with Lord Beckett." He smothered a smile, and tried to match her grave look, making an exasperated noise under his breath

"Indeed," he responded dryly. "But what if I am content with the present circumstances? What if I don't want to, er, become 'truly honorable' as you put it?"

She rolled her eyes expressively.

"It's clear to anyone that you're not. The fact that _you_ had to behave in a dishonest manner has been plaguing you. Wouldn't my plan reverse that?" Her persistence bothered him…as did the fact that she seemed to know him so well.

Surprisingly bright eyes glittered up at him.

"But stealing is dishonest."

"So are you if you keep lying to yourself." There was a modicum of truth in that. James winced.

"That's a cliché" he told her. She grinned, but the smile quickly faded.

"I'm sorry—I've said too much. I'm rambling." Rachel turned around, and began to stride away –as much as a lady hampered by skirts could- before pausing and arching an eyebrow at him.

"You… _will_ consider it?" she inquired hopefully, before disappearing at the rail. He surged forwards instinctively, before realizing that she had clambered down the ladder to the wharf and was proceeding slowly away.

Lost in thought, and reflecting unnecessarily on a certain pair of hazel eyes…he went to the galley where he ate his cold supper without really tasting. He ruefully reflected that perhaps he should have asked Miss Baird to stay. After al, they still had much to talk about.

* * *

As Rachel progressed along the wharf, she heard voices from a shadowy nook. It was getting late—any voices here at this hour were rare. However, the low tones brought to mind a warm afternoon, and a dark alleyway. She froze, listening intently. 

"He has confirmed our suspicions—he will have to be dealt with," came the eerily familiar, cultured voice. She didn't wait to hear more. Gasping, she picked up her skirts and ran, slipping along the damp docks in her delicate slippers. She closed her eyes in a silent plea for strength—a shout from behind her confirmed her fears.

Behind her came the heavy tread of running feet.


End file.
